To the Victor Go the Spoils
by pocketcucco
Summary: The people of Kanatahséton warned Haytham against drinking the tea. But the temptation of its power was too great - and now he must face the deadly consequences of his actions.
1. Wolf Pack

I've had a few tokw ideas for a while (another involves the connor that may have existed before canon timeline connor appeared), but mongoliantiger of tumblr's wonderful tokw!haytham art inspired a plot idea (and has been pulling me out of the awful writing slump I've had for the past few months, yay!)

* * *

**_Wolf Pack_**

Haytham woke to the intermingling tastes of bitter tea and bile on his tongue.

He tried to push himself to a sitting position – slowly, slowly, because his body felt weak and worn down. His cup was still lying beside him, shattered to a hundred pieces. A pool of red – that blasted tea – surrounded it.

Haytham put a hand to his clammy forehead. And then the bunch of thick fur around his neck; a cape? How had that gotten there? He lifted it closer to his face and realized that its coloring resembled…

Wolves.

He forced his eyes shut.

The dream he'd experienced after drinking the willow tea had been so _vivid_. Empty, off-white space. A pack of wolves. They'd circled him, followed him. _Obeyed _him. And then they'd attacked him, one by one-

And he woke up. He was back beneath the massive willow tree, protected by the shade its long, drooping limbs offered.

He wanted to lay back down. His stomach still ached and his head was spinning.

But he had to move. Washington's men could come crashing through the woods at any minute; this he had learned from countless ambushes. They were a dull bunch, to be sure, but it would be deadly to underestimate them.

Haytham struggled to his feet, and even when he was standing, he was still shivering all over. Perhaps the willow tea hadn't been his best idea; perhaps he should have let it be, as some of the men of Ziio's village suggested. But, in the end, the temptation for the power to defeat King Washington had been far too great, and he wound up asking the Clan Mother for directions to the tree.

Now he felt too tired to handle even _one _of Washington's men. What in the world was he thinking, rushing off to drink some concoction made from a bunch of bark? Such foolishness.

Ziio could help him. Maybe she had something to counteract the bad effects of the tea. He'd be back to his old self before long – and he could continue the fight against the mad king. Haytham wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and stumbled in the direction of the village.

He made it a good half mile before the patrol appeared. They took one look at him – recognized him, most likely, given that he was surely a wanted man after what happened in Lexington a few days ago – and drew their weapons.

Haytham took a long, slow breath through his gritted teeth. Of _course _something like this would happen.

"There he is," one of the soldiers said to his companions. "Kenway, innit? The general's been looking for you."

Haytham forced a smile. "Oh, I don't doubt it."

The man opened his mouth to say something else, but Haytham had already engaged his hidden blade and was closing the gap between them. The soldier barely had enough time to throw up his bayonet – and even that wasn't enough to stop Haytham from stabbing him clean in the throat.

There. One down. But Haytham could feel the sweat pouring down the sides of his face, could hear the throb of his heart in his head, could feel the ache in his bones-

That didn't stop the remaining soldiers. There were still four of them left, and he didn't doubt that another patrol would be coming through the area soon.

The four began to circle and surround him. Haytham held his ground. He had the hidden blade on one wrist, and he reached for his sword with the other. This was far from a fair fight – but his childhood training wasn't for nothing. He waited for one of the men to lunge, to try to feint, to do anything to give him an opening-

There it was. The man closest to his right stepped forward. Haytham spun around and, despite his fatigue, easily blocked the attack. The soldier staggered backward.

Fast footsteps behind him. Haytham turned again and shoved hard against the second approaching soldier. This one didn't stagger; he pursed his lips and pushed back just as hard. Haytham found his feet slipping beneath him, forcing him back into the circle of soldiers.

An upward stab, quick and beneath the man's ribs. He gurgled and fell back.

Hadn't been expecting that, at least. Two down, three left.

And this time they were all coming for him at once.

Haytham parried the first strike with his sword and tried to kick the soldier away. That worked, at least – the man went flying backward, but he managed to keep his footing. The next soldier took advantage of Haytham's distraction and lunged, bayonet whistling through the air – Haytham sidestepped that attack, but sloppily. The blade sliced down his arm and drew a fair amount of blood.

The third soldier… Blast, where was he? Haytham looked around wildly, and – there he was, loading his gun. Preparing to shoot.

This had certainly taken a turn.

Haytham dropped to a crouch. The best he could do now was grab one of the other men and use him as a meat shield; but they were moving away from him now, dancing just out of his reach. It would take too much time for him to stand up and throw himself behind one. And even if he did, one of the others would take the opportunity to stab him in the back while he tried to defend himself against the gunshot.

Haytham muttered a curse under his breath. Who knew that damned tea would be his undoing? He put a hand back to the fur cape that had appeared after the dream, and-

The soldiers suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. The one loading his rifle lowered it.

"Where…?" They looked around, looked away from where he was sitting. "Where did he go?"

"He was there just a second ago, swear I saw him-"

"Vanished right into thin air-"

Haytham stared at them. Maybe they were even stupider than he thought. Maybe-

He looked down at his hand. Looked right through it, actually.

He _had _disappeared. But how…?

He held his hand out in front of his body. Transparent, but he thought he could still see the thin, wavering outline of it. Clearly, the three soldiers could not.

Maybe the tea was working after all. Or maybe he'd completely lost his mind in the last moments of his life.

Regardless, Haytham stood again. The men were coming closer to where he was hiding. So he sneaked between them while they fumbled about and positioned himself on the outskirts of their group.

It was hard not to laugh out loud. The soldiers were still talking amongst themselves, but they were looking up to the hills, to the trees around them, to the bushes nearby. All he had to do was walk up and stab them.

The fatigue was coming back, though. It was somehow stronger now than it had been before. Haytham took his hand from the fur cape and reached up to touch his forehead-

"There! Right over there! Found him!"

He looked back down. His body was fully visible now. And the soldiers were coming – or at least the two of them were. The third was reloading his rifle, was lifting it to aim-

Damn.

An anger welled up in Haytham's chest. How could he possibly die like _this_, to a couple of bumbling fools who only happened to come across him by chance? Why did he decide to take the risk with the tea? He should have listened to the men who warned him about it. Should have stayed at the village instead to help defend it against future attacks.

His chest felt heavier now. Hotter. The fury he felt was growing, raw and primal and _strong_.

At the very least, Haytham Kenway would _not _go down without a fight. He slid into an offensive position, raised his hidden blade and sword-

Three shapes rushed out from beside him. They were semi-transparent, almost as his body had been when he touched the fur cape – but he knew what these creatures were as soon as he saw them.

The three wolves from his dream growled and barked. The soldiers weren't sure what to make of it; keep running toward Haytham, or try to escape these strange beasts?

They didn't have a chance to make their choice. Two of the wolves leapt and buried their fangs in the soldiers' throats. The men started to scream – but the sound was cut off, replaced by the snap of bone and teeth.

The third soldier managed to drop his gun and run. Still, he only made it a good few feet before the last wolf grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him to the ground. Haytham watched with horror and fascination as the creature tore into the man's face.

And when the three wolves were done, they turned back to Haytham. They stood at his side, tall and proud, licking the blood from their chops.

Haytham touched the fur at his neck again.

Something strange was happening. Something in the tea was bringing those dreams to the waking world. These weren't just hallucinations, either - they were real, tangible, and they could kill. This was the power the villagers had mentioned in whispers and – in some cases – been deathly afraid of.

And he was finally beginning to see why.


	2. The Best Laid Plans

It's been so long since I last played the first episode of TOKW, for some reason I thought that Connor didn't get his wolf hood until after the first Sky World journey and wrote Haytham getting the wolf cape after his... Hopefully that's not too bad of a mistake, haha. Anyway, thank you for the interest in the first chapter and the favs and follows! It feels good to be writing AC3 again.

* * *

_**The Best Laid Plans**_

The more worrisome effects of the tea had worn off by the time Haytham returned to the village. He was feeling less tired then and more…well, _powerful_. He felt taller, stronger, like he could simply touch something and it would break to a thousand pieces.

He liked this feeling. Liked it a _lot. _But how long would it last? Was it simply one of the aftereffects, like the weakness and nausea he'd felt earlier? Would it all fade away just as quickly?

He sincerely hoped not.

Kanatahséton was quiet when he stepped past the wooden fortifications surrounding it. The sun had begun to set, and people abandoned their other duties to gather around the cook fires. The intermingled smells of smoke and burning meat hung heavy in the air; it wasn't until then that Haytham realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten since long before he set out for the ancient willow.

He wove between the groups, searching for Ziio among the people seated around the fires. Few stared back; they were used to his presence by then and ignored him, for the most part. Only the Clan Mother caught his eye.

She opened her mouth, like she was about to speak to him. Haytham hesitated. The woman was wise; she probably knew about the tea and didn't like that an outsider had gone to drink it.

Haytham had a retort ready, the same he had used the day he came to ask the Clan Mother and Ziio if he could briefly join them: I only want to stop the mad king. That is all. Nothing more, nothing less. We all have to work together if we want to make a difference. I have nothing and no one left. He took my order, took my men and slaughtered them all for defying him.

But the Clan Mother said nothing. She looked away from him and back into the depths of the fire. Haytham left; and he didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until he was a few paces away.

Ziio was on the outskirts, close to her longhouse. She didn't look up until Haytham stood directly across from her, with the flames of her own cook fire dancing between them.

Her brow furrowed. "What is that on your face?" she asked. "And where did you get that wolf skin?"

Haytham put a finger to his cheek. It came away clean.

"No," she said. "Around your eyes. It looks like paint. What did you do?"

"Nothing," he said, touching the skin near his eyes again. Was it blood she saw, perhaps?

Ziio sighed and turned to the other figure – a young man, in his early teens or a bit older – seated beside her. "Bring some water," she said. He jumped to his feet and entered the longhouse nearby.

"Where were you today?" Ziio asked once the boy was gone. "There are…rumors. That you have been asking about the tea."

The answer – the same he'd prepared for the Clan Mother – slipped past his tongue before he could stop it.

"I was promised the power to stop Washington," he said. "And if some _tea _going to help-"

Ziio made a sound somewhere between a derisive snort and a laugh. "I thought you did not believe in our _stories _and _myths_."

"I saw its power for myself. In one of the men of your village."

"So you went to the willow yourself?"

"I did, and-"

The boy returned then, holding a bowl in both hands. He started to hand it to Ziio, but she shook her head and motioned to Haytham.

"Look at your reflection," she said as he took it. "There is paint by your eyes."

Haytham's image wavered across the surface of the water. It was difficult to make anything out when it was so dark, but – there it was. He saw thin lines extending from the bottom of his eyes to his jawline. The paint – or whatever it was, considering the fact that it didn't even smudge when he tried to wipe it away with the heel of his palm – was a deep red, the color of drying blood.

"Interesting," was all he murmured as he set the bowl aside.

"You drank it?" Ziio asked, her voice lowered again. The young man looked between them, curiosity piqued.

"I did. And these markings were not here before, so I can only assume that they appeared after the fact," Haytham said. He reached up to touch the fur cape at his shoulders again. "This as well."

Ziio lowered her gaze to the fire. "I see," was all she said.

And they fell silent – until the young man spoke up, his voice confident and loud.

"Did it make you stronger?" he asked. "Can we strike Washington?"

Ziio was speaking before he was even finished. "If you are thinking of going to the willow, you-"

"I am not," he said. But something in his voice suggested otherwise, Haytham thought.

"Leave the tea's powers to me," Haytham told the boy. "And…no. Alone, I would not be enough to-"

"Then more of us should drink the tea. We can work together to stop the king."

Ziio sighed. "Are you listening to me? You are too young for the tea, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The boy didn't pout, but he leaned away in a sort of sulk, with his arms crossed over his chest. Haytham did his best not to smirk.

"I may not be strong enough to fight Washington, but the tea has given me a certain…advantage," Haytham said, more to Ziio than to Ratonhnhaké:ton. He thought of the power of invisibility that the tea had given him; what better chance to test it again? To prove its power to Ziio and the others of her village?

"His forces have a small fort nearby," Haytham said. "I can open the gates and allow your men to enter and destroy it."

Ziio was thoughtful for a moment. "You are sure?" she asked after a pause. "Attacking that fort would be too risky if you are wrong. And we cannot afford to lose any more than we already have."

"You know that I know that better than anyone here, Ziio."

She looked up at him then. Her gaze was difficult to read – always had been, really, even in the months when they were in love and Haytham believed that he knew everything about her, believed that he could read her like an open book – but she gave him the smallest of nods.

"I will trust you for now, Haytham," she said. "But you will enter the fort alone. My men will follow only when the gates are open."

"Agreed."

And so it was settled. Excitement bubbled up in Haytham's chest, replacing whatever misgivings he might have had earlier. He wanted to test his new power again, wanted to see it in action, wanted to-

"I want to go," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, suddenly.

Haytham spoke up before Ziio could protest. "Let him," he said. "I will keep a close eye on the boy. And it would do him good to be in a real fight."

"He is needed here. What if Washington uses your ambush as an excuse to attack the village? We will need all the strength we can muster."

"All the more reason for me to go," Ratonhnhaké:ton said eagerly. "I can fight. I can defend myself and others. I want to go and pay Washington back for what he's done."

Ziio was quiet. She stared after her only son, the boy – no, he was nearly a man now, Haytham thought – she had worked so hard to raise on her own. He was strong, though – Haytham had seen Ratonhnhaké:ton wield a tomahawk with deadly precision, had seen him use it to cut through skin and muscle and bone. But he needed more finesse and polish; things that only a good skirmish could help to teach him.

"I will personally watch out for him," Haytham promised, much to Ratonhnhaké:ton's chagrin.

"Oh, and that makes me feel _so _much better," Ziio said – though the quirk of her lip betrayed her smile. "But. Fine. He may go."

The boy brightened at that. "When will we go?" he asked, turning to face Haytham.

"A few days from now. We need to make plans."

"Fine." Ratonhnhaké:ton stood then and brushed the dust from his front. "I want to practice for a while."

"Just for a while. You need rest, too," Ziio said, her tone softer than it was before. "Do not leave the valley."

Ratonhnhaké:ton gave his mother a nod before he turned and left. Haytham watched as the boy left the light of the surrounding fires and disappeared into the darkness.

Ziio never told him who had fathered Ratonhnhaké:ton, but he was sure he knew; had known since he first laid eyes on the boy several weeks ago, really (and what a surprise that had been, to return to Kanatahséton and find that his former lover had a nearly grown son!). There was a hint of Kenway in the boy's jaw and nose, though he most definitely had his mother's sharp eyes and smattering of freckles across his cheeks. If he was the father – and Haytham was quite sure that he was – then Ziio would never in a century tell him.

And Haytham was, much to his own surprise, all right with that. For the time being, at least. Ziio let him speak to and work with the boy. That was enough. Perhaps after this was all done – once Washington was dead and his threat gone forever – Haytham could ask her more about Ratonhnhaké:ton. Maybe he could even take a more active role in the boy's life. He had no other friends or family in the colonies, after all.

"We should speak with the others tomorrow," Ziio said, bringing an abrupt end to his idle daydreams. "The sooner we strike, the better."

"Agreed."

"You should rest as well. I have heard that the tea's… gifts can be tiring."

Haytham nodded. He felt fine then – well enough to attack the fort on his own – but he decided to keep that to himself. Ziio already seemed wary of the tea and its supposed powers. He would have to show them to her himself in the coming days.

For now, though, he retired to his tent outside the village.


End file.
